


Gwen Discovers Flat Holm

by sarcasticchick



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Character Study, Drama, Episode: s02e11 Adrift, Established Relationship, M/M, Missing Scene, Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-01
Updated: 2012-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-28 15:30:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/309345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarcasticchick/pseuds/sarcasticchick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>History is not inevitable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gwen Discovers Flat Holm

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't help it. I had to do it. You can't tell me that Ianto didn't know exactly what he was doing. A Missing Scene/Tag for "Adrift."
> 
> ***Moving things over from LJ as there are better reading/formatting options - not a new fic, but feel free to reread if you'd like!***
> 
> *******

"You told her."

Ianto's pen paused over the cream-colored page of his diary, surface black-scratched with the date and one sentence but nothing more. Funny how history bore itself in text, the lingering definitions of time spent, for ill or for better, reduced to mere letters which in reality bore no semblance to the memory or the physical piece of time once present. In fact, the whole notion of recording history was in itself as absurd as counting stars, yet that never stopped the attempts. Even he still attempted with trivial facts, dates and times, all scripted in fine black ink delineating real from the unreal, fantasy bleeding into each curved 's' and entrapped in the ringed 'o'. The text didn't matter, after all, not the perfect grammar and correct spelling of each word or the impeccable handwriting, not when fact belied what each letter truly meant - an opening into his past, a record of sight, sound and taste, of touch and smell, of those perceptions extending beyond sense into the unexplained.

Memory. Triggers. Nothing contained within his diary meant anything without his mind, a storage for handwritten dates and figures, alien device records and time stamps of events. But it was beautiful; Ianto couldn't help but smile as he pressed the tip of his fountain pen into the paper, completing the sentence despite Jack's interruption. Another line of fact. It was living history, existing only so long as he lived and then it would become empty pages, black-scratched data etched permanently upon the surface.

 _XX-XX-08  
Gwen discovers Flat Holm._

Deliberately, Ianto set the pen beside the diary and picked up the bottle beside him, one of Owen's stash. Ianto had steadily been working through it in the off hours when Owen wasn't around to bitch at Ianto's nerve, despite being unable to consume them himself. Ianto considered himself doing Owen a favor. "Told who what?"

Ianto had found Jack never to be shy of demonstrating his ire. That evening was not any different as he stormed from the doorframe he'd been leaning on in typical Captain Harkness gradiose fashion to the desk at which Ianto sat idly swinging the beer bottle between thumb and forefinger. It was too much too resist, Ianto knew it was, the idea of those perfectly penned words upon the page, tempting to spill Ianto's secrets in black and white for the captain. A hip on the desk, Jack spun Ianto's diary to face him - without so much as a "please, may I?" - and read the day's entry, predictable as ever.

He didn't even flinch when Jack's palm hit the desk, just took a drink of his beer because he knew the lack of reaction would irritate the captain, so intent on appearances he forgot to be no more than meaningless words scratched on a page.

"How could you?" Jack jabbed the entry in the diary, but to Ianto it looked as blank as it was intended, though the cream filled the curves and holes, ran flush to the edges and lay flat against the lines. "She would have been spared."

 _Gwen discovers Flat Holm._ She wouldn't have been spared. Ianto knew that as well as he knew how many tiles were in the women's loo and the number of coffee beans per roast it took for Jack's favorite mug of coffee. There wasn't anything he didn't know about Torchwood Three, and Gwen would never have stopped, tearing Cardiff and Torchwood apart in her quest for answers which had already been given, never stopping because she believed Jack insensitive or incompetent, or because she was simply so drowned in self-arrogance that she couldn't discern the hand reaching to save her.

She would tear _Jack_ apart.

"We're just children, you know," Ianto began, responding to Jack's accusation with deflection so carefully honed after years of lies, obfuscation and manipulation. So easy. Perhaps too easy, but then, Torchwood encouraged a quick mastery of all its lessons; death a consequence if one were to fail. And even for those who didn't fail, it was inevitable as the next rain shower. _Gwen discovers Flat Holm._ She'd learn. She had to. "Playing with the toys of the gods."

"I gave you orders."

Orders. Order, rule and regulation; standard operating procedure of Torchwood One, all but forgotten at Torchwood Three. And wasn't that why they existed in Cardiff? Deliberately cut off from London, a recalcitrant group of mismatched souls breaking every rule, putting the individual before the team, before the Charter, before Britain for god's sake. Torchwood One may have collapsed beneath the weight of its own greedy arrogance, but Torchwood Three would sacrifice Britain in the name of selfish pursuits and ignorance.

Ianto wondered if his soul would ever be clean. He belonged here, just as the others did, lost in a world where the purpose of Torchwood was forgotten or casually brushed aside, but now it was penance not pride which drove him.

Order, rule and regulation. What precisely did Jack think was Ianto's job?

He finished his beer in one quick swig, ignoring the furious twist of Jack's lips as he fought to either resist the urge to punch Ianto or yell. Ianto couldn't blame him; the facts etched so clearly in black ink on cream colored paper stated in unequivocal terms the extent of his betrayal. _Gwen discovers Flat Holm._ Standing knowingly well-within Jack's reach, Ianto took his time unrolling his sleeves, redressing to his early morning perfection while he spoke. "I took the liberty to arrange a service check on Nikki's home electricity, lucky I took that uniform to be dry cleaned."

His rueful smile and quick glance at Jack went ignored, the Captain still chiselled marble in fury. The only indication he still lived was the rapid breath huffing through his nose; Ianto could feel it burning like fire on his skin. He should step away, back up, put distance between he and Jack but he wouldn't give an inch, not this time. Ianto did strike all related sex-jokes from his repertoire for the evening, however. "She'll remember nothing of Torchwood or of her reunion with Jonah." After replacing his cuff links, Ianto buttoned his top button and straightened his tie. "If you would, make sure Gwen turns out the light in the File Room after she's finished cleaning up after her investigation, I just replaced the bulb."

Jack moved, finally, Ianto was almost convinced he had run afoul of some alien device. But the man jerked, his head tilting as the captain built up another argument. "She's not here." Jack's lips curled into a smirk Ianto rarely saw directed at him, a vicious, victorious smirk at having found fault in Ianto's logic.

"Of course she's not." Ianto gathered his suit coat from the chair, flung over the side as he'd settled in to note the day in his diary. It had taken no damage for the mistreatment, still looking as perfectly pressed as it had when he'd removed it from the wardrobe that morning. He spoke as he slipped his arms through the sleeves, not thinking for a moment that Jack would lend any assistance. Ianto wasn't wrong about that, either. "She will be, though."

Jack stared at him in disbelief before anger and incredulous bled together to bring the captain nose to nose with Ianto. On any other occasion, Ianto would have believed it foreplay, but not today. "What's this, then, you're teaching her a lesson?" The finger stabbed into his chest didn't hurt, but it did make Ianto blink in reaction. "Fuck, Ianto. This is your fault!"

"Is it?" Ianto smiled; he couldn't help himself even if it just gave further evidence of his unhealthy method of dealing with angry individuals. Of course Jack would believe it Ianto's fault. It was his fault for Gwen's stubborn curiousity. It was his fault for her choosing to disobey Jack. It was his fault Jack had never discouraged the disobedience, not once since the beginning. It was his fault for her lack of trust in Jack. _Gwen discovers Flat Holm._ "And if you don't mind me saying, I don't think it's me you're angry with."

Ianto turned away before he could read Jack's expression, bending past the captain to retrieve his diary and pen, fully aware he put himself at a disadvantage should Jack choose to physically retaliate for Ianto's impertinence and insubordination. Perhaps that's why he did it, testing Jack as much as he was testing his own trust in the man.

He didn't hesitate. And a blow never came. Not that he waited long in that position, his head near Jack's fist and his back open and inviting contact. He straightened and calmly walked towards the door, picking up his outer coat that hung on the hook, just beneath Jack's great coat.

"Why are you doing this?"

Jack's soft voice made Ianto pause at the door, a brief flash of memory sparked by the words, an echo of his own voice, high in an office when he'd still been shaken by Jack's reappearance. And John. He rested his hand on the door frame, lifting his eyes to meet Jack's. "Standard Operating Procedure 27.6-a: just a clean wash and wipe. I believe it's page one-thirty-seven in the Torchwood manual."

"Dammit, that's not what I meant." And the stubborn cross of his arms seemed to emphasize Jack's point.

Of course it wasn't what Jack had meant. _Gwen discovers Flat Holm._ Ianto's fingers curled into the frame, eyes dropping for the first time since Jack had interrupted his journaling, seeking out the floor's impersonal stability in both shame and dishonor. "I was..." He felt his voice stop of its own accord, Ianto lightly cleared it before continuing. "I failed you, with Suzie. I was blinded by Lisa, even after, every hour spent agonizing over insignificant details, first perfecting and then deconstructing. I missed Suzie, I missed how the glove was affecting her and her isolation, her deceit and the madness. I missed it, and you suffered for it."

"Ianto..." Ianto knew what Jack would do before he heard the movement, but knowing failed to make the gentle force on his chin any less demanding or effective. And truly, with Jack, Ianto had little resistance. The concerned smile was a far cry from the harshness of before, the crinkles at his eyes more care than anger. So different the effect, nearly stealing Ianto of every ounce of resolve he still possessed. "I'm not your responsibility."

He might have leaned into the touch more than appropriate for the situation, but Ianto for once didn't care about propriety. The light touch of Jack's thumb, gentle over his lower lip; the curl of his forefinger maintaining the steady gaze. They were overwhelming after nerves and subterfuge had changed his days into stress levels not experienced since Lisa. But it had been worth it, every moment. Including now.

Resolutely, Ianto straightened, pulling away from the comfort of Jack's forgiveness never voiced but felt. It was never a question of Jack's absolution for Lisa; rather, it was more a matter of Ianto forgiving himself. More guilt, another black-scripted fact in the diary. He was working on it though. Maybe some day he'd deserve Jack's compassion.

"But Torchwood is," Ianto countered, looping his outer coat over his arm with an air of professionalism, knowing his argument said everything he needed it to say. _Gwen discovers Flat Holm._ Jack would learn. And if he didn't, Ianto would be there until the day he couldn't, offering a reminder of the lessons the captain was too stubborn to grasp. For Jack's sake. And Torchwood's. And ultimately, Britain's. "Don't forget to turn off the light, please. And Jack?" Jack's attention snapped to Ianto, the careful study written clearly on every line and curve of his body. "I'll be at my flat, if you need anything at all tonight."

With Jack's answering nod, Ianto left the Hub, eager to escape before Gwen returned, though he knew it would be a time before she arrived to tear the photos off the wall, shoving all the facts into files as she tried in vain to erase her involvement and assuage her guilt. And Jack would watch, because he would wonder if Ianto was right. Guilt, followed by remorse . And perhaps, a lesson learned.

 _Gwen discovers Flat Holm._

***  
***

So it was with moderate surprise that Ianto found himself answering a timid knock on his door that evening, wearing only his black dressing robe tied loosely about his waist, the Captain standing uncertain in his doorway, colored by shadow. Ianto had been somewhat unsure, a niggling fear in the back of his mind that he'd pushed too far, irrevocably damaged the fragile thing he refused to put a label on, making whatever they shared as meaningless and empty as the words defining it. While no one knew more than he about the Cardiff branch of Torchwood, there was still the variable that continued to elude Ianto's confident grasp of all things Torchwood.

Less of a fact, more of a blur, a smudge which may have once been a letter but now was unreadable with the passage of time.

Beautiful.

Pale cream and dark smudge in the moonlight, curling to clasp at every angle and curve; the mark of history hastily written before the memory could slip away. It wasn't precisely as Ianto had envisioned the day would end, the single glass of red wine and book on the table next to his reading lamp testimony to beliefs contrary to reality, wrapped in Jack's arms as he was wrapped in Ianto's, a continuous band of touch and touched. This was better, holding Jack as he leaned heavily against him, eyes silently asking for the forgiveness Ianto had no prerogative to give, still ensnared as he paid penance for his own guilt. They tumbled as one onto Ianto's bed, Ianto supporting Jack as they sank into a tangle of limbs, twisted lines upon the bedding.

Because that's how they would be remembered, lifetimes from now when history was reflected upon, searching for lessons learned to avoid repetition. Finely crafted fact, etched so clear in predefined terms of communication. Jack, even Owen, Tosh and Gwen, names given and remembered for historical moments so clearly captured as events unto themselves. Torchwood's history, notated and dated, revealed at some pivotal moment when their names becomes more than just names, they become synonymous with heroism, bravery and sometimes defeat. But never without valor and success, no matter how small that perception might be. And behind it, the cream-colored paper brings life to the black ink, filling the "o" and bending the "s" until smudges become letters, letters become words and words become fact.

Fact etched in black ink, the forgotten fantasy of senses pressing cream against every dark plane, curving around bends and supporting the solitary dot of an "i". It wasn't vanity nor hubris, Ianto knew as he thrust into Jack, silent pleas whispering past the man's lips unintelligible as the words written by the fingernails scratching across Ianto's back yet so clear in their meaning; a language undiscovered, and the definitions self-evidentiary. He was different; he was pounded and pulped until molded into shape, a smooth surface upon which gave form to the words of history and the fallacy of arrogance.

Where Gwen believed in the humanity of man and fought blindly to preserve it; Ianto believed in the inherent evil and fought to protect mankind from itself.

Even Jack,

Cream-colored paper, another line of fact black-scratched permanently upon its surface.

 _Gwen discovers Flat Holm._


End file.
